


Temporary Ground

by dvs



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky Barnes is a resilient badass, Everyone Wants To Snog Steve Rogers, Loki Angst, M/M, Oh steeb, POV Steve Rogers, Steve Has Issues, Steve and Loki could be a thing if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 19:39:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3621843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dvs/pseuds/dvs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lost in time and space, Steve Rogers tries to find his way back home, with a trickster as his only companion, and Bucky Barnes on his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Temporary Ground

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to Suzvoy and Pertifity on their invaluable input when I was at the 'waah-waah' stage of writing this <3

It's raining outside the motel room, the sky gurgling and snapping. Steve looks out of the window at the angry grey clouds and wonders if it's just thunder, or if someone's coming for him, if someone's found a way of bringing him home. Behind him, sitting at the yellow top Formica table is a man on a mission of vengeance. It's not the first time their paths have crossed during Steve's recent unplanned travels, but it's the first time that Erik Lehnsherr's hatred of humanity seems more tempered. At least, enough to tolerate Steve's presence. Maybe it's his youth, or maybe this world hasn't made him angry enough to create Magneto.

Erik's accent is slightly clipped by hard German sounds when he speaks, his tone leaning on the edge of amused. “He speaks to you from another reality.”

Steve grimaces, unsure of how he's supposed to explain the intricacies of Asgardian magic. After some thought, he says, “We're...connected. It means he can see me, I can see him, but he's never really here.”

“And not all the time, presumably.” When Steve turns his back on the window, he finds Erik watching him, a curious look in his clever eyes.

Steve shakes his head. “No, not all the time.”

Erik frowns, looking intrigued. A voice that sounds as if it's right inside Steve's skull says, “Young Magneto. Not completely unpleasant on the eyes, is he? For a human. Sorry...I mean _mutant_.”

Steve ignores Loki's comment, sitting down in the chair adjacent to Erik. Loki's been here for five minutes, watching Steve quietly, bringing him nothing of importance. Steve wonders if sometimes Loki turns up just for the entertainment value. Steve looks away from him, in no need of Loki's scrutiny, or his usual running commentary on how every reality is just proof of humanity's inability to be anything other than predictable.

“Do you think, perhaps, if you concentrated your efforts on following my instructions, rather than saving every reality you stumble into, you might be home by now, and I might be rid of you?” Loki's tone is quiet enough that Steve is compelled to glance at him, Loki's mouth twitching up, not quite convincing enough a smile to hide his annoyance. “Why don't I return later? This is all a little tedious first thing in the morning.”

Without another sound, Loki is simply gone, as if he might have been a figment of Steve's imagination. More and more often, Steve is beginning to wonder if that's exactly what Loki is. Maybe this is all a nightmare in the head of a frozen man.

“Captain?” Erik's flinty eyes are trained on him. He knows exactly what Steve has been distracted by.

“I told you before. It's Steve.”

Erik snorts, leaning back in his chair as they sit at the small table in this tiny motel room. “Those who could be gods should not so readily present themselves as mere men. _Steve_.”

“I'm no god,” Steve says, knowing full well that the fears of a sickly body still remain with him, no matter how much strength there is in the form that Erskine gave him. His nightmares aren't always about war, about losing Bucky. Sometimes they are selfish, and they are about losing this body, and becoming _him_ again, small and invisible. He's no god. Not by a long shot.

“You've were worshipped like one,” Erik says quietly, a faraway look in his eyes. “News of your feats spread further than you might realise. You made people hope in the darkest of places.”

“Erik-”

Erik smiles, snapping back to the present. “What if you can't return to your world?”

Steve shrugs, smiling in response to the way the muscles of his face feel like falling. “I don't know.”

“Will you stay and make this world a better place?” Erik teases.

“I'll do whatever I can,” Steve answers honestly.

Erik's gaze sharpens, looking bright. He swallows and says. “What a waste.”

“If you want the world to be a better place,” Steve says, “then you have to be a part of building that better world.”

Erik tilts his head slightly, offering a half-smile. “But who decides the meaning of 'better?'”

Steve opens his mouth to reply, but is left stuck. Any man with an ounce of power can decide what constitutes a better world. Erik's right, one man's better could be another man's worse. History is full of such examples. Steve can do no more than offer Erik an apologetic look. Erik's brows shift in and out of a frown, his pale gaze reflecting nothing of his thoughts.

Erik stands up, taking two steps forward, leaving him standing over Steve. He has a questioning look, one that makes Steve nervous, his insides fluttering. Erik leans down, moving close slowly, making his intentions clear. He looks straight into Steve's eyes, telling him he still has time to move away. After a beat, he leans forward and kisses Steve, slow and soft, a brush of lips that ends in their mouths pressed together. Steve doesn't respond, sitting rigid and still. The patter of rain on stone ground outside is the only sound in the room.

Erik draws back, the corner of his mouth lifting wryly at the lack of a response. He tilts his head at Steve, warmth having crept into his eyes. “Maybe you should stay. Witness what this world does to foolish men like you.”

Steve smiles a little, wishing he could go back to those dark places to save one more boy ruined by war. He quietly tells Erik, “It's not foolish to see the good in people.”

“Is that what you see in me? Good?” Erik asks, straightening up and shoving his hands into his pockets. “You may be the first.”

Steve can see Erik slowly shifting into a dark mood. “I'm sure I won't be the last.”

Erik turns towards the window and becomes lost in watching the downpour. Outside, the motel sign is creaking loudly, pushing against the wind. After a minute, the creaking abruptly stops, though the wind is continuing to blow and Erik continues to stand there at the eye of his own storm.

“Tell me,” he says quietly. “Tell me something about where you come from.”

# *

Steve wasn't sure where he could start. The world before the ice, or after he had awoken? The world before Bucky died, or after he returned? It was tiring even thinking about all the worlds he had occupied in a relatively short life. So he settled on an easier option; the world before he was snatched from his own reality. It wasn't much of a story, at least, not those parts where he had been grabbed up only to be mercilessly tossed around space and time. That part was easy; the wrong place and the wrong time, and now he was trying to find his way back home, his only companion, for a lack of a better word, one Loki of Asgard.

That was the story.

Though in reality, Steve thought as he lay in his motel bed, that story began much earlier. It began on a cold day in December, New York under inches of snow, and under attack. Loki, determined to be a thorn in Thor's side, had aided the wrong madman, helping him to unleash creatures intent on devouring not only the humans of Earth, but also the gods of Asgard. The creatures were the size of large bats and looked like inky squids that darted through the air, screeching whilst shooting out bolts of energy to incapacitate their prey, their single goal to feed and multiply. Steve had seen them swarm together into one large twisted butterfly, descending on a stunned man, wrapping around him and feeding, leaving behind the dried husk of a corpse, leaving onlookers staring in shock.

After witnessing the carnage caused by the swarms, Loki realised the creatures were beyond reason, driven by a hunger that could end in the death of Asgard. More importantly, the death of _him._ When Thor had fallen, covered by a swarm and almost lost his godly life, Loki had looked terrified. A day later, he switched sides as effortlessly as only he could. Steve had watched him from up high, fighting under the flurry of snow, throwing icy blasts at the creatures circling near him, smelling Asgard on his skin. He was good, agile and accurate in his aim. Pity he had the allegiance of a yo-yo.

“Come out to the coast, we'll get together, have a few laughs,” Sam said, finding the energy to sound annoyed as well as fly through the air, carrying Steve single-handedly. “That's a reference by the way, to a movie about a guy _not_ having a fun time.”

“What movie?” Steve asked, his eyes on the movement below, carnage spreading all around the block.

“Die Hard,” Sam replied.

“Maybe if he knew what the movie was called he would have stayed at home,” Steve suggested.

“Dude, I will drop you on your ass,” Sam yelled down at him, before abruptly doing just that.

Steve didn't see what happened, but he felt the jolt that hit Sam. As Steve fell, he was hit by another blast on the way down. It didn't get him, but it did knock away his shield. He fell to the ground like a rock, landing on his side, his leg, ribs, hip and arm taking the brunt of the impact. Steve grimaced, trying to remind himself how to breath, urging himself to get up. He'd gotten back up quicker with weaker lungs and bones once. This body could take a fall, it could take pain. He fisted his hand against the ground and pushed himself up onto all fours, pushing his earpiece back into place.

“Sam?” he asked shakily. “ _Sam.”_

“I'm good,” Sam's voice crackled back. “One wing down, but good. You?”

“I'm fine. Ground broke my fall,” Steve said, gritting his teeth and moving to one knee. That was when he saw a swarm forming up ahead, shifting and slowly angling towards him.

Steve was half-way up onto his feet when a black-clad blur rolled in front of him, uncurling to stand before him, holding his shield. Steve's eyes widened as he watched the man take cover behind the shield and fire off a round of bullets at the swarm, his stance unflinching and fearless. The swarm rippled in the sky, looking like an oil slick behind a shower of snow. Then it exploded into gelatinous lumps that rained down, spraying the street and filling the air with an acrid odour that hit Steve in the back of the throat.

“Bucky,” Steve said, grimacing as he held a hand up in front of his mouth and nose.

Bucky turned around, his hooded gaze falling on Steve. He held out his hand and pulled Steve to his feet, handing him the shield as his gaze flicked to their surroundings, taking in the terrain and activity. He looked back in the direction of more creatures darting down from the sky. “Aim for the queen. Each swarm has one. The markings are subtle, but you can pick them out. Take out the head, the rest of the swarm falls apart.”

Bucky was already moving, ready to fight and fire, turning away. Steve grabbed him by his elbow, feeling a shift of metal plates as he held Bucky in place. “You back?”

The plates shifted again, ridges disappearing, the surface almost smooth. Bucky looked Steve in the eyes and gave him a stiff nod. “You still got a couch for me?”

Steve nodded, mustering a smile. “Always.”

Bucky looked away from Steve, mouth opening to speak, but ultimately withholding the words. He settled on a nod, turning away and sprinting away, Steve twisting about and slamming his shield into an oncoming creature that stopped its screeching on the spot. He ran down a street which was strewn with debris, following the sounds of shots being fired, rounding the corner just in time to see Tony fire out a bolt at a creature that was all black slime tentacles, blindly screeching from its sharp-toothed tiny mouth. The shot blew it to pieces that went flying in all directions.

Steve slammed his shield into a larger and slimier cousin of the screeching missiles, this one with pointed talons and longer teeth, blind pinhole eyes barely visible, just as Thor leapt into the air and swung his hammer down on another, sending it's pulpy remains across the side of a shining building. As Thor turned to ward off a fresh attack, Steve saw a swarm of the creatures swoop up, stop suddenly and then twist towards Thor's troublesome sibling.

The swarm had merged tight, shifting into something that looked like a giant stingray. Scaly, shining, and black, it was headed towards Loki, big enough to wrap completely around him. Steve broke into a sprint, leaping up as the creature flew down. He pulled his arm back and flung out the shield, its trajectory perfect, slicing through the queen. The whole thing fell apart like a burst balloon full of water, its remains splattering on the Asgardian below.

Loki's head snapped around, and he stared at Steve, face half covered in black blood, eyes displaying clear shock. Steve gave him a nod, turning away when he heard two shots ring out, hitting steel and making an impossibly melodic sound. He twisted to see Bucky lowering his gun, sending Steve's shield spinning back towards him. Steve caught it effortlessly, slamming it into another creature, diving right back into the fight as he heard more bullets and saw a rain of icy blasts.

At the time, Steve hadn't given it a single thought, the elegance and efficiency of Bucky's two shots that sent Steve's shield flying back to him. Steve had spent months wondering when he would truly have Bucky back, when that dark cloud might lift from his friend's features, bring back something of that bright young man he once knew. But Bucky had been back the whole time, looking out for Steve the way he used to. Steve just hadn't seen it then, and now he lay in another universe, the furthest he'd ever been from home.

# ***

“If I could help more...” Steve's voice echoes in the confines of the dank dark basement where he and Logan are waiting for the arrival of Avengers, X-Men and anyone else who has seen their beacon.

“Ain't your fight, bub. Besides, this next portal, it's supposed to open tonight, isn't it?” Steve nods, looking at the shield that now sits against the wall, veiled by a dark shadow. It's not his shield, and the clothes he's wearing are not his uniform. Both belong to the Captain America of this world, missing, probably dead, at least that's what his gut tells him. “Maybe this is the one that takes you home.”

“Maybe,” Steve says, not feeling all that hopeful.

“How the hell did you get tossed out in the first place?” Logan asks with a scowl, which eases after a moment. “Magneto? Let me guess, he's a dick in every reality.”

“It wasn't him,” Steve says with a small smile.

Logan is quiet for a moment. He arches a brow and asks, “Stark?”

Steve shakes his head. “No. There was an accident.”

“And here you are, hanging around to help stop an apocalypse. Regular boy scout,” Logan says thoughtfully. “No wonder...”

“What?” Steve asked when Logan trails off without finishing.

Logan scratches his chin, looking up at the small line of windows near the ceiling, square glass tiles that provide very little to look at, other than a glimpse of the night sky. Doesn't really matter. They both know what's outside; large machines roaming the city, explosions brightening the sky. It's less of a world and more of a graveyard out there.

“Things got pretty bad,” Logan says after a while. “First we lost Charles. Magneto soon after. Say what you will about the stubborn son of a bitch, but he knew how to rally the troops. We still kept going though, mostly because Rogers kept going. After he disappeared, it's like the fight went out of everybody. Stark was barely keeping it together. Banner went green, raged out and disappeared. Everybody just scattered. Then you turn up out of the blue and it feels like we might have a fighting chance again.”

“I haven't done anything. You're the one who went out there and put the team back together,” Steve points out.

Logan shakes his head. “There's a difference between putting a team together and making them believe it's not just a waste of time. Half the time even I'm not sure if we're making a difference.”

Steve turns towards Logan, offering him an understanding smile. “But you're still here.”

Logan snorts. “Chump.”

“Fighter,” Steve says firmly.

Logan blinks, scowling at Steve for a moment. He spends the next minute distracting himself by fishing out a cigar from his pocket and biting off the end, which he spits aside, clamping down on the cigar as he lights it up. When he's finished, he strides over, pulling out a bandana from his jacket pocket, bringing it up to Steve's temple.

Steve flinches as Logan says, “You're bleeding.”

Steve takes hold of the handkerchief, bringing it down to see the bloodstain on the red and white print. Grimacing, he presses it back against a sore and stinging spot just under his hairline. “Thanks.”

Logan's eyes flick across Steve's face as he nods and takes another puff of his cigar, his face momentarily obscured by the acrid smoke. Steve waves it away, coughing. His lungs can take the strain of smoke now, but it's still unpleasant, stirring up an assortment of memories. By the time the smoke clears, Logan is looking at his cigar, throwing it on the ground and crushing it under his boot.

Logan gives Steve a look and shrugs. “Nasty habit. Should probably quit, right?”

Steve smiles. “It's not really quitting if you leave it right up until the end of the world.”

A smile momentarily disturbs Logan's sour expression, his eyes turning up at the bright moon that manages to shine its light between buildings, right down into the basement. Steve follows his gaze and they end up standing next to each other, quiet and contemplative in the middle of an apocalypse. Steve turns towards Logan, about to tell him that he's sure they can turn the tide, if they try hard enough. Logan turns at the same time and crushes his mouth against Steve's, which opens in shock, Logan's hand coming up to cup the back of his neck as he deepens the kiss against Steve's spluttering mouth, pulling his head down. When they part, Steve blinks at the other man, mouth hanging open, taste of tobacco lingering on his lips.

Logan's eyes slide left, and then back to Steve. “We weren't having a moment?”

“ _No_ ,” Steve answers.

Logan is scratching the back of his head, eyebrows doing a strange dance of confusion. He shrugs and says. “I thought we were having a moment.”

“We were not,” Steve clarifies. Swinging his hand in the direction of the windows, just as an explosion rocks the street outside. “We're in the middle of a war zone.”

“I don't know about you, but if we're gonna get blown to bits, there's a kind of blown I much prefer to what's waiting for us.” Steve stares at him, feeling his face heat up a little. It makes Logan laugh, who shakes his head and says. “I misread the signals. Happens.”

“There was _no_ signal.” Steve gives Logan a filthy look and goes back to staring at the stupid moonlight. After a moment, sounding haughty even to his own ears, he says, “You know, it's very presumptuous of you to think you'd be the one getting anything blown.”

Logan huffs out a surprised laugh, muttering. “Fuck me.”

“Not today, pal,” Steve says flatly. “Even though you're a real romantic bastard.”

Steve spends the next minute listening to explosions and Logan laughing around a fresh cigar. The sound of someone's throat clearing makes him wince and turn his head to find Loki beaming at him. He scowls and returns his focus on the window, while Logan moves away to check a box full of supplies. Knowing Logan, the word supplies can easily be exchanged for the word explosives. Or beer. Or beer and explosives.

Loki sidles up next to Steve. “It's a rather curious approach you have to providing assistance, but then, I've never really been one for convention. Pity this will be a short-lived romance, as the next portal will open in an hour. I'll give you time, of course, to say your, no doubt, tearful goodbyes.”

Steve clenches his jaw, unwilling to say what he's thinking with Logan in earshot.

“Captain America. Sulking like a child.” Loki's smile breaks into a grin that turns into a low laugh. Steve continues to glare ahead. Loki sighs and says, “Your silent threat to dismember me at the first available moment has been noted.”

Steve ignores the remark, hoping Loki will get the message and leave. He doesn't. In fact, the next thing he says is, “How sad that there will be no nuptials.”

The teasing doesn't stop even on the other side of the next portal, Loki laughing obnoxiously, face split by a bright grin, as Steve looks at the street where he's landed, trying to make sense of how he connects to this place. At least it's night and deserted.

“It's really not that funny,” Steve says flatly, more concerned with the fact that he's still wearing a uniform that might have no meaning in this world, or raise a million questions. He wonders if there's another Steve Rogers here, his bones not quite telling him anything.

Loki sighs, his laughter tapering off, Steve shaking his head, continuing his assessment. Loki is quiet for a while, before he thoughtfully remarks, “You must by now regret the day you made that terrible mistake.”

Steve frowns. “What terrible mistake?”

“Saving my life of course,” Loki says, so casually, Steve thinks, that the moment he labels it casual, it seems quite the opposite. “Had you not saved my life that day, you would not be here.”

Steve turns around to level Loki with a hard stare. “It's a sorry way to live when you start regretting _saving_ lives. I only regret the lives that couldn't be saved.”

Loki rolls his eyes so hard Steve expects Loki to fall back with them. He adds a long-suffering sigh to his displeasure, tone indicating severe boredom. “You may not regret the day, but I certainly regret asking the question .”

Steve snorts and continues looking for clues to his whereabouts. His mind wanders back to the day Loki is feeling so regretful about, the day Bucky came back from a self-imposed exile. The first thing he did, Steve thinks, was to stand between Steve and a swarm of life-sucking alien creatures. How could he regret anything about that day?

# *

When the dust had settled and the danger passed, some of them returned to Stark Tower to tend to their wounds and watch how quickly the media would go from praising the Avengers to adding up how much damage they had caused.

“Really bugs me when they do that,” Tony said, pulling a face and shaking his head, making his complaint sound as if he were annoyed about something quite irrelevant. Knowing Tony, maybe it was irrelevant.

“Quit being so rich then,” Clint unsympathetically advised Tony.

Tony aimed a scowl in his direction, Natasha smirking where she sat on the couch next to a subdued Bruce. It didn't seem to matter how much good the Hulk could do, the come down always seemed to leave Bruce looking shattered. Natasha's hand covered his, squeezing it. Bruce blinked at her hand and looked at Natasha, finally smiling. Steve shifted his attention to Thor who was sitting back with beer in hand, his eyes on the figure outside on the balcony, gazing down at the city in a worryingly regal fashion.

“You okay?” Steve asked him, leaving the others preoccupied with Tony's complaints.

Thor looked up, startled. Seeing Steve, he smiled, nodding in Loki's direction. “It felt good today, fighting side by side.”

“But you're always going to wonder,” Steve said, airing the unspoken thought.

“He is my brother,” Thor said, as if it were the saddest thing in the universe. “And I cannot trust him.”

Steve eyed the window, seeing Loki looking dark and alone in front of a too bright sky. He gave Thor what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “But you did today, and he came through.”

Thor returned a smile which seemed fragile, but happy. “Yes. He did.”

Steve left him in marginally better spirits, walking out onto the balcony to join Loki. Loki didn't bother to turn around, even though Steve had made his approach clear. “I was thinking you might want to join the others for a drink.”

Loki turned and smiled at him, amusement and annoyance mingled effortlessly in one expression. “Then perhaps you ought to stop thinking so much.”

Steve withheld his sigh, and nodded, turning to leave. “Okay. Guess I better go pay Tony his ten bucks.”

Steve took a step forward, only to have Loki slap his hand onto the front of it. “You saved my life.”

Steve ignored the hand on his chest, giving Loki a firm look. “You were fighting with the Avengers, that made you a part of the team, and I look out for everyone on my team.”

Loki grinned, pulling his hand away. “I cannot imagine my circumstances being so dire that I would ever have to consider myself a part of your _team._ ”

Steve frowned at Loki. “Really bothers you, doesn't it, that I saved your life?”

“Owing my life to the likes of you? Of course it bothers me,” Loki said simply. He turned his gaze towards the window and the Avengers on the other side. “Why don't I have that drink? I can start paying back my debt by allowing you to win whatever dismal wager Stark's made with you.”

Loki walked off without another word, leaving Steve watching from the balcony, all the Avengers turning their eyes on him when Loki opened his mouth, presumably accepting the offer of a drink, and leaving Tony ten dollars short. Steve finished his own drink and made his excuses, pulling on his jacket, and pulling down his cap, aware that he was leaving under Loki's close scrutiny. Tony once again, in his offhand money-means-nothing manner, asked why Steve just didn't take a floor in Stark Tower, yelling after him as Steve smiled and left without answering. Tony already knew the answer. Steve wanted to live somewhere a little more normal, and a little less Stark. Plus, even when Steve sometimes felt an outsider in the present world, Brooklyn managed to feel like home on a good day, and he wasn't going to give that up.

Though, he he didn't head straight home, making his way to a place not far from his studio apartment, a small smoky bar that sometimes looked out of place in the present world, right alongside Steve. He walked in wearing his baseball cap, unnoticed amongst a number of baseball cap wearers, spotting both Sam and Bucky propping up the bar, eyes trained ahead on a flat screen television. Bucky had opted out of drinks at the tower, and whilst Steve entertained an internal panic, Sam had effortlessly invited Bucky for a quiet beer instead. He wasn't made out of glass, Steve would tell himself later, what the hell were you so scared of?

“Hi,” Steve said, taking up a spot on Sam's side, Bucky already on Sam's other side.

“You made it,” Sam said with a smile. “Get me another, will you? I have to visit the little falcon's room.”

Steve nodded, letting him pass and shifting to his spot next to Bucky, who was finishing off a beer, watching the screen in front with indeterminable interest. Steve tried to think of something to say. It was ridiculous that he couldn't. It wasn't supposed to be this hard talking to Bucky. Steve settled on motioning to the barman, ordering himself a beer, and another for Sam. Bucky looked in two minds about it when Steve offered him another.

“It's not like you have to watch how much you're drinking anymore,” Steve said.

He smiled, but there was nothing behind it, because all he could think of was Bucky flushed with alcohol, loose grins, laughing at every joke, singing any song. No matter how much smaller Steve had been, carrying the weight of his happily drunk friend had never been a burden. Bucky was frowning at Steve who looked away to nod at the barman who brought over the two beers.

“The serum,” Bucky said thoughtfully, his mouth twisting up in a smile that held no real joy. “I got the knock off, remember? Can't get drunk. Can get close enough to be pretty sour about the whole thing though. You?”

Steve shook his head. “Not so far.”

“You tried?” Bucky asked, looking curious.

“Yeah.” Steve took a swig of his beer, paying attention to the bottle in his hand instead of Bucky's too interested gaze. “I tried.”

“Must have been something pretty bad, if it had you looking to get drunk.”

Steve looked at Bucky, remembering the salty taste of tears mixed in with bitter whiskey. “You could say that.”

Bucky's usually impassive expression had softened, and Steve still hadn't allowed himself to remember that Bucky's memories had been returned to him. That this was Bucky, ever iteration of him, right here, asking him, “What?”

Steve stared back, seeing Bucky before him, seeing him fall away, screaming and reaching out, Steve failing to save him. You, Steve wanted to say, but couldn't, unable to add to whatever burdens Bucky already carried.

“Everything okay?” Steve and Bucky both turned to find Sam watching them, concern coming off him in warm waves. Steve nodded, and Sam gave him a sceptical look. “Really? Because you both look like someone just died.”

“We were talking about getting drunk,” Bucky said, holding up his bottle for Steve to see, wearing half a smile that did nothing to clear away a dark mist that always seemed to stop that smile from shining in his eyes. “Right?”

Steve nodded, smiling tightly and looking away, motioning with his own bottle. “Right.”

Sam stared at them both, and Steve waited for the mock disapproval. All he got was a grin, Sam picking up his bottle and proclaiming, “As a man without a super constitution, I look forward to throwing up on both of you.”

Bucky smiled at that, so did Steve. It might have been the first time in too long that they had shared the same joke. It made Steve feel as though his chest had grown a third lung, opening up a whole new reservoir of air. Bucky was watching him, and Steve felt as if his body was flying back in time. He ducked his head, but he couldn't stop the smile.

# ***

“You should have jumped by now. Something must be wrong. I knew allowing these humans to tamper with my devices was a bad idea.”

Loki is standing on the edge of the rooftop, a look of frustration on his face. A moment later he looks away from Steve to snap at people only he can see, back in the reality where Steve belongs.

“What I mean by that, Stark, is that rumours of your thinking prowess appear to be a great exaggeration.”

Loki continues to bicker with people hidden from Steve, while Steve watches a maniac in red and black run across the roof, coming to a dead stop when he sees Steve. The man in red and black snaps his head left, and then snaps it right, before slowly tilting his head at Steve. Steve opens his mouth, barely getting out the name 'Wade' as he's tackled around the waist and shoved to the ground. Steve goes down easily, another version of him out there somewhere, sapping Steve's strength just by existing, the universe's way of telling him he doesn't belong here at all.

They both trade blows, crashing through various bits of rooftop debris. When Steve tackles Wade to the ground, it starts another round of tussling. They go back and forth until Steve ends up on his back, hanging half off the edge of the snow-covered roof, Wade pressed against him, right under the glare of a bright yellow light. Wade gasps.

"But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks?" Wade gasps. “Dang, girl, check you out. Your eyes are so _blue_. Can I have them? Actually, forget that, they look much better on you. I'll just look into them instead, for eternity. Because that's what you get when you get _this_. Eternal devotion. Is your mouth as soft as it looks?"

“No,” Steve says irritably, scowling at Wade.

Steve can't see Wade's face, but his features seem to shift behind the mask. He leans forward so his elbow is digging into Steve's sternum, and he's propping his chin up in his hand. “This happen to you a lot, huh? Guys in masks asking you to do dirty things for them? Getting you to pretend you're coming over to fix the garbage disposal. Clean out the gutter. Mop up the bin juice-”

“I get it,” Steve says with nod, rolling his eyes a little.

Wade stands up and points an accusing finger at him. “Hey! I am trying to unsettle you with my unwanted advances. How dare you not be offended, how _dare_ you?”

Steve slowly stands up, grimacing. “How about you try opening with 'hello'?”

Deadpool throws his head back and laughs, nodding vigorously. “That's not a bad idea. It really would cut down on the number of incidents I experience on a day to day basis. It is high. We're talking statistical anomaly high. You are a _pretty_ man. Seriously, you're making my innie turn into an outie.”

Steve grimaces, shutting his eyes for a moment. Opening them again, he gives Wade a stern look. “Look, Wade, I'm not here to-”

“Whaaaaaaat?” Wade asks in a high pitched voice. “How the hell do you know my name? You that girl who ran out on me in the middle of dinner two weeks ago because I said I see dead people, but mostly because I put them there?”

“No,” Steve says slowly and patiently. “I am not that girl.”

Wade tilts his head to the side and goes quiet for a moment, sighing. “You know, I've forgotten what it's like, the feeling of someone's soft lips on my, er, lips. How about a kiss, handsome?”

“I'm not going to kiss y-” Steve attempts to say before Wade presses his masked mouth against Steve's lips. Steve frowns at Wade, almost cross-eyed, the mask tasting bitter, the movement of Wade's lips exaggerated against Steve's mouth. Steve pushes him away and just stares.

"You're right, I'm being so inappropriate. I'm sorry, I'm sorry.” Wade leans in close, laughing as if he's embarrassed, and pressing a hand against Steve's chest. A second later he's grabbed Steve by the front of his jacket, with both hands, pulling him close. “Our babies will be so beautiful.”

Steve ignores the clinging man, frowning at his surroundings. “Wade-”

“Mmm, I love it when you say my name,” Wade says. “Say it again, baby. Go ahead, say it. Say my name. Say my name. Say my-"

“Hey, asshole!” someone calls out, hiding in the shadows.

Steve frowns, his eyes darting across the expanse of the rooftop to find who else is out there. At the same time Wade whips up a blade and holds it up to Steve's throat, whilst putting an arm around his waist, his hand patting Steve's hip. Steve would shake his head if it didn't mean accidentally cutting his own throat.

“Great. _This_ guy,” Wade says, though neither of them can see the source of the shout. Wade glances at Steve. “We could have been so good together. The best. With my unquenchable desires, and your ass, oh the missed opportunities. How's about I show you the inside of my sombrero once I'm done with this dick?”

“That's a kind of a hat, isn't it?” Steve asks, frowning and genuinely confused.

“College boy! I like it,” Wade says, and Steve can actually see the motion of waggling eyebrows underneath the mask.

Steve sighs and grabs Wade by the wrist, pulling and twisting, Wade's whole body flipping forward. He swivels around, slicing the blade through the air. Tilting his head at Steve, he says, a little gleefully, “Foreplay? You're going to ruin me for anyone else, aren't you?”

And off they go again, this time with Wade taking great delight in slicing away Steve's attire whilst pretending to be Zorro.

Later, after Steve has jumped, Loki spends far too long extolling the virtues of a union with Wade Wilson, Steve only half-listening as he sits on the edge of a creek in stolen clothes and stares ahead. He doesn't even notice when Loki stops his teasing. He's just aware that it's silent, and he's alone again.

“Another thing,” Loki says after a while.

“I'm not in the mood,” Steve says.

“Be that as it may,” Loki says, “I have been charged to pass on a message by that woman Thor is so enamoured with. Jane and Stark's tampering did something to the jump. It appears the portal made more than one jump before depositing you here, passing over several other destinations, none of them the reality of consequence, if the readings are correct. She said to tell you to think...of a needle on a record.”

Steve stands and turns to stare at Loki. “I skipped ahead.”

“Apparently,” Loki says, looking bored, eyes roaming over the surroundings.

Steve blinks at Loki, turning his gaze to the grassy ground for a second. When he looks up again, Loki is gone, but hope is spreading warmly through Steve's chest. As far away as home might be, maybe he's just gotten that tiny bit closer. Maybe he'll finally get to fall asleep in his own bed. He doesn't care about the nightmares, or about Bucky's midnight wandering. He'll take it, he'll take it all if he can go back to that place he now firmly thinks of home,

# *

Steve woke up choking in the dark hours of the morning, noise that escaped his throat sounding embarrassingly close to a sob, and his heart was ramming against his ribcage, claustrophobic and looking for escape. He sat with his legs drawn up for a moment, elbows resting on knees, the palms of his hands covering his eyes. It only took moments, but it felt like forever, the return of reality. When it returned, he looked across the apartment at the couch that Bucky had claimed as a bed, finding only the abandoned blanket. Dreams forgotten, he got out of bed, roaming the apartment in the dark.

There was every chance that Bucky had gone for good, it wasn't the first time he had disappeared. It wasn't the first time Steve had stood by the window and looked down into the street, waiting, thinking of his mother who used to do the same, waiting for Steve's father. The longer the night would go on, the drunker he would return. It was strange how long someone could reserve the anger they cultivated in childhood. Steve still felt a flare of anguish in his chest at the memories.

At five in the morning two figures walked down the street, Sam in jeans and jacket, Bucky in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt into the pockets of which he had tucked both hands, wearing the hood up. They stood under the street lamp for a while, facing each other, Sam nodding, listening patiently, while Steve felt the anguish in his chest turn to something sharp and selfish. Sam and Bucky talked for another minute or two, Sam finally saying his goodbye with a laugh, warmly patting Bucky on his left arm, the palms of Steve's hands felt dry and warm. Empty. He swallowed and turned from the window, returning to his bed and lying silent when Bucky returned, hearing him take up his couch with a thud and sigh.

“You didn't say anything?” Natasha asked next morning, wiping a towel over her face as Steve got up from the dojo mat to stand before her. He shook his head. “You should have said something.”

“Like what?” Steve asked, sounding defeated to his own ears. “Why do you talk to Sam when I'm right here? Truth is, Sam's probably the right person. The last time Bucky was here...”

“You had Thor use the cosmic cube to make him remember all that he now probably wishes he could forget.” Steve turned to see Loki leaning by the window, wearing a wide smile on his face. “It's what I heard. I could be wrong.”

“What are you doing here?” Steve asked, aware that behind him Natasha had already shifted in preparation to fight if necessary.

“I have it on good authority that the Avengers may need to assemble shortly,” Loki said, pulling at the cuffs of his intricately embroidered long coat. “I suspect a point will come in the day when you'll offer yourself up as cannon fodder and I'll have the opportunity to clear our debt.”

Natasha laughed, stepping from behind Steve to stand by his side. “This is a joke.”

“On the contrary,” Loki told Natasha. “It's a very serious matter. The idea that your friend here might earn a place in Valhalla for saving an enchanted life, while I could be refused entry on a few technicalities, well, it rather turns the stomach.”

“A few technicalities,” Natasha said with amusement. “I'll bet.”

“You want to repay your debt?” Steve asked, feeling anger simmering too close to the surface, “Think about picking a side that isn't all about you-”

Loki's head dropped forward and he emitted what was definitely a snoring noise. He lifted his head up a moment later, blinking and shaking his head. “Sorry, I anticipated a long speech and the thought of it put me right to sleep.”

Steve glared, clamping his mouth shut. Loki just smiled, thoroughly amused, Natasha glaring at him even as she moved across the room to pick up her phone which had made a small shrill noise. She swiped a finger across the screen and looked at the display, before walking across the room and showing it to Steve. The message was from Tony, short and simple: assemble.

“Let's go,” Natasha said, already moving,

Steve half-turned to follow, though his eyes stayed on Loki who was leaning by the window with a satisfied smile and challenging look in his eyes. Steve shook his head. “I don't know what you're up to, but whatever it is, it's not going to end well. Not if it turns into another one of your games.”

“Let me make it easier to understand then,” Loki said. “Save my life, or cause me any slight, both leave me indebted. I mete out what is owed to you on all counts. A god does not live in the debt of your like. Does that make you feel any better about my presence?”

“You want to save my life because I'm not good enough to save yours,” Steve said flatly.

“Simply put, but yes,” Loki said with a pleased smile. Steve just stared at him in silence.

“Steve?” Natasha called down, sticking her head out of the door near the top of the stairs.

“On my way,” Steve said with a nod, and Natasha disappeared through the door. When Steve looked back at Loki, it was to find the Asgardian watching the now empty doorway with a smile and arched brow. “You're not her type.”

Loki smirked and answered, “I am a god. I'm everyone's type.”

# ***

Of course Natasha has the drop on him as soon as they go head to head. She's never needed super strength to face her opponents. It's why Steve is sitting leaning against a wall, grimacing in pain from a knife wound in the back of his thigh, a flesh wound from a bullet that has grazed his arm, and the leftover sharp sting of a metal wire around his throat. In one corner of their hideout, Natasha is staring at him openly, sporting a cut to her lip, and a bruise high up on her forehead, but otherwise unharmed. In the other corner is Loki, watching Natasha with curiosity, and what might be annoyance.

“What?” Steve asks Natasha, when her mouth purses into a little round smile.

“Saving my life isn't going to get you into my pants,” she says, her throaty voice at odds with a face that somehow comes off girlish, maybe even innocent. Steve ignores the comment. Natasha grins with amusement. “You put up a good fight though. That kind of makes me want to get into yours.”

“You're not my type,” Steve says evenly.

Natasha makes a sound like a laugh snapping inside her lungs. “I'm everyone's type.”

Steve's eyes flick to Loki who for less than a second seems surprised before he goes back to plain old curiosity. Steve tells Natasha, “You're better than all this.”

Natasha scowls at him, shaking her head. “Great. You want to save my soul. Mood killer. Don't waste your breath. If that's what you're after, you should have just let me fall.”

“Maybe,” Steve says, watching Natasha stand up from her corner of the room to limp over to a dirty window, discreetly lifting a rag curtain to peer outside.

“Then why didn't you?” Her tone is flat and disinterested.

“Because you're my friend,” Steve says. She shakes her head, having heard it already. Steve carries on. “Where I come from, we trust each other with our lives. I trust you. Where I come from, you changed your life around. And it didn't make you weak, if anything it just made you stronger. You're one of the strongest people I know.”

Natasha's expression gives nothing away, but she has stilled and her eyes are stuck on Steve. She frowns and says, “Okay. That might have gotten you a little closer to my pants.”

Steve lets his head fall back against the wall, shutting his eyes. He hears Natasha close the gap between them, opening his eyes to see her fall gracefully onto one knee, looking intrigued by Steve.

“You don't close your eyes in the same room as your enemy,” she tells him.

“You're not my enemy.”

“You're not my friend.” She's moving forward with catlike grace, peering at him as if she's trying to read his mind through his eyes, her mouth hovering closer and closer to his. Steve remains still as her lips slowly press against his, a soft pressure, her top lip brushing his bottom one when she pulls away. Her forehead is creased when she sits back. “I tried to kill you. Why did you save my life?”

“It's a life worth saving,” Steve says.

“What did she do to make you care for her enough to save the life of a woman with the same face?” Natasha asks with a wry twist to her mouth.

“She was there when I needed her,” Steve says.

“That's nice,” Natasha says flatly, moving away to look out of the window again. “Tell you what, if we get out of this alive, maybe I'll change my ways.”

“Really?” Steve asks, not hiding his scepticism.

“Probably not,” Natasha replies, smiling and fluttering her eyelashes at him. “But I'll always remember our time together fondly. Maybe even invite you up for coffee when this is all over.”

Steve stands up, joining her at the window. He sees what has her distracted. Soldiers in black, all of them waiting. “You're not going to try to slicing my throat again?”

Natasha looks up at him, her eyes flicking to his mouth for a second. She smirks and says, “No. I guess I pay you back. I don't like debts.”

“Pay me back,” Steve echoes. Looking at Loki, he says, “You know what? A simple thanks is enough. Really.”

“You don't want the information on the Winter Soldier?” Steve freezes, his attention all on her. “Well?”

“You'll go to him? The other me?”

“Sure. Might be fun.” She looks Steve up and down, smiling. Steve gives her a stern look, which only makes her laugh. Mouth pursed in a small smile, she pulls her gun from its holster and turns her back to the window, Steve turning with her and holding up his shield. “I'll go to him.”

Steve tightens his hand on his shield, eyeing the door which will burst open any second, telling Natasha, “Thank you.”

“You can't save him in every reality you go to,” Loki says quietly. His mouth curls into disdain as he adds, “You're not _that_ good.”

Steve doesn't feel the sting of the barb. It's not the first time Loki has twisted that particular knife.

# *

Bucky was sitting on the kitchen floor, knees drawn up, hands by his sides, limp on the floor, his flesh palm cut and bloody. He was staring ahead, his eyes vacant and fixed somewhere Steve couldn't go. His cheeks were flushed pink, looking almost feverish, strands of his hair hanging over half of his face. Steve went to him, slowly and carefully. He picked up a towel before crouching down next to Bucky. Wrapping the towel around Bucky's injured hand, Steve sat down cross-legged, leaning against the same set of cabinets as Bucky, holding onto the wrapped hand.

There wasn't much Steve could say right now, he already knew this. Days ago a Hydra attack had baffled the Avengers before it became clear what they were after; their weapon, the Winter Soldier. One Russian word had been uttered, and Bucky fell as if someone had cut his strings. After months without Hydra, one word was all it had taken for them to leave Bucky powerless. What could Steve possibly say to make that better?

“What happened?” Steve asked quietly, opening the towel to look at Bucky's palm now that some of the blood had been soaked up. The cuts were deep, dark and angry.

Bucky blinked, his voice a rasp when he replied. “Broke a glass. Sorry.”

“It's just a glass,” Steve gently told Bucky. “It's okay.”

Bucky let out ragged wet laugh that was no more than just a puff of air that ended with a grating sound in his throat. “You're used to dealing with broken things.”

“You're not broken, and you're not a thing,” Steve said quietly, not missing the allusion.

Bucky stared at Steve, forcing him to look into hard slate-blue eyes. “Things are used, owned. Things like weapons. When you lose them, you find them, bring them back. Because they're things. What they want doesn't matter.”

“You matter,” Steve almost snapped. “What you want matters.”

Bucky blinked at Steve before turning away, shaking his head. “Just when I think, this is it, this is normal, normal gets changed again. Normal is Hydra's out there carrying around an off switch.”

“Not for long,” Steve promised. “Natasha says there's a list of these triggers. She thinks she knows someone who can get a hold of it.”

Bucky frowned. “And then what?”

“Tony seems to think we can get rid of them, get them out of your head, and in case you hadn't notice, he's pretty smart,” Steve mustered a weak smile. “Turns out, what you want matters to a whole bunch of people.”

The anger on Bucky's face melted away to weariness, pain-filled eyes looking at Steve as if he were an anomaly, the corner's of Bucky's mouth turned down, as if all news, good and bad, could only be greeted with misery. “Why are you doing this? After everything I've done, how can you even-”

“You're not the bad guy here, Bucky, you didn't choose to do the things Hydra made you do. So you don't get to do this alone,” Steve said, gently sweeping aside Bucky's doubts. “We look out for each other.”

Bucky blinked, eyes shining sadly, his mouth looking weighed down as he tried to smile. “You never did know when to quit.”

“I guess some things never change,” Steve said. Bucky returned a shaky smile, giving Steve a look that hit him square in the chest, something that was old and familiar. Steve almost expected Bucky to reach for him and pull him into a tight hug, but he didn't. He swallowed, and looked away. Steve quietly said, “Come on. Let me take care of that hand.”

Steve helped Bucky up, guiding him to the couch. Bucky remained quiet as Steve cleaned out his cuts and bandaged his hand. Steve caught Bucky watching him with a quiet intensity, but when he looked up again, Bucky's gaze had turned to the windows, looking as if he was longing to be somewhere else, somewhere faraway. Steve picked up the leftover mess of bandages and ruined towel, telling Bucky he was going to clean up and make dinner. When he returned from the bathroom, the couch was empty, and Bucky had fled. It made Steve's gut twist painfully. He swallowed down the tight feeling that ran all the way from his throat to his chest, and headed for the dojo downstairs.

Steve spent an hour pounding a reinforced punching bag until he needed to switch to another. No matter how much Steve wanted it, Bucky didn't saunter into the makeshift gym with an easy smile on his face and make Steve's anger dissipate just by his mere presence. Grimacing, Steve punched even harder, too swift for even his own body to handle, left panting. For a while all he could hear was his own angry heartbeat, his ragged breathing, his hands trembling. When his body began to calm, his senses registered a strange and unnatural calm, a cool stillness creeping into the room that didn't belong.

“I know you're watching me.” Greeted by silence, Steve glared at the bag held between his bandaged hands. “How about you quit hiding and show your face?”

Loki stepped out from behind the punching bag, one hand out of view, but pressed against it. He had a catlike smirk on his face. Steve stepped back and began to unwrap his hands, pulling away pinked bandages, his eyes settled on Loki who was watching him closely, eyes flicking up and down Steve's body.

“What do you want?” Steve asked curtly.

Loki's brow lifted. “Want? You are the one who called _me_.”

Steve's fist tightened around the bandages he held bunched up in one hand. “I didn't call you. I called you _out_. There's a difference. I don't take kindly to being spied on, Loki.”

Loki curled his lip. “Don't flatter yourself. I'm able to keep my eye on many things without ever having to spy. Had you not called me _out_ , I would have continued happily with my day.”

Steve gave Loki a sour look, before deciding to ignore him completely, heading towards the stairs. “You know your way out.”

Steve was barely half-way across the room when Loki's quiet voice bounced off the wooden floor. “You appear...rather upset, Captain.” Steve stopped, scowling, head turning slightly towards Loki's voice. “Something disrupting truth, justice, and the American way?”

Steve turned all the way around, unsure of how Loki's words were ratcheting his anger even further, but they were, bringing angry heat to his eyes, making his heart pound. Still, with some calm, he managed to tell Loki, “It's time you left.”

“Expecting someone? It's just that, from where I'm looking, you seem rather alone.” Loki was staring at him, eyes glittering bright and dangerous, expectant. Steve remained rooted to the spot, watching as Loki made a show of looking up at the ceiling and then at Steve. “Is that why you're angry? Assassin trouble?”

Steve bolted across the room, shoving Loki up against the wall, Steve's forearm pressed against his throat. The Asgardian grunted in shock before letting out a delighted laugh. Loki grinning down at him, eyes lit with excitement, whilst Steve could barely breathe or think straight. “My my, what an ugly temper you have, Captain. I hope you won't mind my saying, but I _much_ prefer you like this.”

Steve pushed away from Loki, breathing hard and trying to see past the rage colouring his vision. “We're just puppets to you, aren't we? Puppets to play with while you decide how you're going to reshape the world to suit you, tearing it up and putting it back together how you like, never caring who gets hurt while you pull your strings.”

“But you're not angry with me, or about the world being torn up and put back together,” Loki said smoothly, a knowing smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. “Are you? You're angry because you can't put _him_ back together.”

“Shut up,” Steve whispered.

“All that posturing and moralising,” Loki said. “First you let him fall, become twisted and misshapen, and then you regret you could not be a saviour, never seeing the part you played in twisting him.”

Steve ignored the simmer of anger under his skin. “We still talking about Bucky?”

Loki's mouth fell open slightly, surprise evident on his face. But he recovered quickly, expression hardening, smile sharpening. “I speak of all so-called brothers in arms. Or as the case might be, _without_ arms.”

Steve didn't realise that he had taken a swing at Loki, sending him crashing to the floor, until Loki slowly sat up to run a thumb over his bottom lip, looking at it to find a smear of blood. Seeing it, he grinned at Steve, who told him, “Get out.”

“But we were just beginning to have fun,” Loki said.

“You've had your fun,” Steve said. “I want you gone. And I want you to stay gone.”

“Yes, but there's no end to the things you want, and can't have,” Loki said, his mouth the facsimile of a smile, the right shape, but none of the emotion. “Is there?”

Steve nodded, telling Loki, “I guess that's one thing we both have in common.”

Steve left Loki sitting on the floor of the dojo, returning to the apartment to find Bucky dozing on the couch, a closed white bag from the bakery sitting on the coffee table. Steve stood over him, watching him for a moment, Loki's taunts ringing in Steve's ears. He sat down in the armchair next to the couch, turning the television on, the volume muted, deciding that he'd stay at Bucky's side, whether he needed putting back together or not.

# ***

Steve feels himself drifting close to the edge of unconsciousness. This reality has been trying on his bones, and he's felt sapped since the moment he landed here. He's cold, being dragged through a blizzard into an abandoned warehouse, hanging heavily in Bucky's hold. It's an agonising eternity before Bucky lowers him onto a tatty blanket on top of dry cardboard, tugging off Steve's jacket and ripping his t-shirt down the middle, pushing it aside to examine the ugly gunshot wound which has drenched Steve's clothes and left his skin sticky with blood. Steve watches Bucky through a haze of pain, his eyes involuntarily tearing up. He can't talk, so he doesn't.

Bucky doesn't talk either. A black leather mask that covered eyes is gone, and his mouth is clamped shut in an unhappy line. When he pulls off his gloves, Steve lets his vision linger on the two pale hands, slim fingers feeling around the wound. Steve squeezes his eyes and lurches up in pain with a loud grunt. Bucky puts a firm bloody hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down. His hand stays there for a while, his thumb stroking a comforting circle that leaves Steve shuddering. When Steve opens his eyes, Bucky's gaze is focused on the wound, a troubled expression on his face. Steve watches him in silence, missing the feeling of Bucky's hand when he pulls back to stand and cast an eye around the warehouse.

After a moment, he looks at Steve. “Try to rest. I'm going to see if I can get some supplies.”

Steve begins to drift the second Bucky is out of his sight, his mind catapulting back to waking in his armchair to see Bucky watching him silently, their eyes locking for the longest time, Steve swallowing and Bucky opening his mouth to say something, interrupted by the phone. Duty calls, and off they go, and Steve is back in the present, hearing the crackling sound of a fire. Bucky is crouching in front of the small fire he's made, and Steve is lying on a bed of blankets, close enough to the fire to absorb its heat without feeling its sharp sting. He's lying on his good side, a bandage wrapped tight around his middle, right over the bullet wound in his other side. Bucky has draped his black jacket over Steve, which smells of leather and smoke, a hint of sweat, and a touch of gunpowder. It smells of violence, Steve thinks, not soap and cologne, mixed with whiskey and time spent draped against a bar.

Steve turns away from the collar, watching Bucky get up and start pacing on the other side of the fire. He's dressed in a black long-sleeved top with his heavy duty cargo pants and boots, part of a uniform, but not one that belongs to Hydra or SHIELD. His hair is looking lank as if he's run his fingers through it several times, leaving part of it hanging down over his face, casting long shadows, his hooded eyes focused ahead. He's not a Hydra soldier in this reality, nor Captain America. He's on his own, a thorn in Hydra's side, and an asset SHIELD haven't managed to acquire. He's not Steve's Bucky, but it's frighteningly easy to see his friend in this world's James Barnes.

Steve starts to push himself up, falling back down with a grunt when his muscles shake and refuse to cooperate. It gets Bucky's attention, who walks over to tower over Steve. “I wouldn't move for a while. You're lucky. Bullet went right through. And it looks like you're already healing up fast.”

Steve sullenly blinks up at him, though he has no real reason to be sullen with Bucky. With that in mind, he rasps out a thank you. He's in pain, but he's warm and dry and feels much better, even if it is just the serum in his bones remembering its function.

Bucky ignores both thanks and Steve's discomfort, crouching down before him. “So...you have a face I know.”

It sounds like a quiet statement, but Steve hears the demand for an explanation, senses a threat when Bucky's hand lightly settles over the jacket, close to the bullet wound. “Long story.”

Bucky blinks, expression neutral. He looks as though he can wait for Steve's explanation for an eternity. Calmly, he asks, “Rumlow saw you and said 'we have to get him back'. Back where?”

“I don't know.” Steve has no idea why Rumlow came after him, but he does have an ugly feeling about the trick this universe is playing. Bucky looks somewhere between blank and calm. Steve licks his dry lips. “I can't tell you why they tried to take me. I already told you once, I'm...not from around here. ”

“Right. Another reality,” Bucky murmurs, his voice low, the corner of his mouth twitching up as his eyes flick to Steve's injury, his jaw working as his mouth falls open for a second. Gaze dropping to Steve he says, “How many days have you been here?”

Steve frowns. He says 'five' at the same time as Bucky. “How did you know?”

“Something went ping on one of Stark's toys. Inter. Dimensional. Disturbance,” Bucky says slowly, as if the words might make him laugh. He smiles with a sort of bitter amusement, eyes travelling up and down Steve's body. “So...this is what would have happened to Steve if Erskine's experiment had worked.”

The dark cloud that moves over Bucky is almost visible, casting a shadow that extends from his eyes to his mouth. “What happened?”

Bucky blinks at him with a sleepy look, eyes flicking to the corners of his mind as his mouth works around the next words. “Steve never got this far. Stark tracked me down, told me about the lab explosion that killed him, killed everyone but Stark and Peggy. They said Steve left me everything he owned, not enough to even fill a suitcase. Let's try again, I told them, let's finish what Erskine started. Let's go after Hydra. Don't let Steve die for nothing.”

Bucky clamps his mouth shut, his jaw clenching. Steve can see his Adam's apple bob as he swallows, his sharp eyes refusing to meet Steve's.

“You look like you,” Steve says, Bucky nodding slowly.

“Howard couldn't fully re-create Erskine's serum, but he gave me what I needed to go after Hydra. And I did. I promised myself I wouldn't stop until they were wiped out.” Bucky shakes his head, a bitter smile on his face. “'Course, then I crashed and took a seventy year nap. Woke up to find they'd grown more ugly heads.”

Bucky drops onto one knee from his crouch, leaning in a little closer. “What do Hydra want with you? If you're a Hydra trick, I won't hesitate putting a bullet in your brain.”

Steve blinks up at Bucky, swallowing hard. “Yes you would. Maybe not for long, but you'd hesitate.”

The anger drains from Bucky's face, leaving it slack and blank. He looks young and lost, but Steve thanks the god that has kept this Bucky out of Hydra's hands. His voice as shaky as his smile, Bucky asks, “You know that for sure, huh?”

Steve nods, both heart and eyes stinging. “Yeah. I do.”

Bucky leans in close, his kiss unexpected, lips chapped but warm, gentle on Steve's mouth. The kiss is tentative, and Steve can feel tremors in the hand lightly resting on his shoulder. Bucky pulls away as suddenly as he initiated the kiss, blinking down at Steve as if he's seeing someone completely different, pressing a thumb to the corner of Steve's eye, rubbing moisture into his skin.

“Not a trick,” Buck murmurs, forehead denting slightly. “Be a cruel one if you were.”

Bucky stands up in one fluid movement going to sit down on the other side of the fire, where he watches it as if the flames are his prisoner, and he their warden. Steve closes his eyes and drifts in and out of sleep, dreaming fitfully. When he wakes, Bucky is sitting close by, leaning against a stone pillar, eyes closed, nothing about his body indicating that he's actually asleep. Between Steve and the fire is Loki, a ghostly figure until Steve blinks a few times, his improved awareness solidifying Loki's appearance. Loki looks tense, his expression stretched tight across his sharp features. Bad news from home, Steve thinks, insides clenching with worry. He opens his mouth to speak, but Loki holds up a hand.

“Don't exert yourself. It's difficult maintaining a connection with you in this state, and you can't jump until you heal. I'd lie still, unless you want to be stuck here.”

Steve breathes in, wincing at the pain in his side. It leaves him shaking for a moment. Loki seems to fade slightly, verging on becoming completely transparent. Steve almost can't make out those features that should be twisted with disdain and annoyance. But when Loki comes closer, crouching down low, Steve thinks he sees what could be a glimmer of worry.

“It's okay. I'm not going to die. You'll get to square your debt,” Steve murmurs. Loki's gaze snaps from the location of Steve's wound to his eyes, showing sharp green surprise. Within a second the surprise is replaced by an inward look, a mouth that opens but says nothing. “You really don't enjoy caring, do you?”

Loki blinks at Steve, and this time his surprise seems tempered by amusement. “This portal was meant for me. To save you, is to prove I could have saved myself. I care a great deal that you survive this.”

Steve opens his mouth to speak, but ends up swallowing, not enough breath in his lungs for both pain and words. Loki reaches out, stopping short with a sudden jerk, his fingers curling inwards as another hand passes right through his to firmly close around Steve's shoulder, squeezing gently. Steve blinks through the haze of pain to see Loki staring at Bucky. After a moment, he stands and steps back. Steve waits for him to say something, but he just stands there, with a look Steve hasn't seen in a while.

# *

The room was like a hollowed out block of shining steel, the only door flush with the wall, no groove to help pry it open. Steve's strength had failed him in trying to get out; his fists had made a dents that simply righted themselves again, and his shield lay somewhere outside. Each wall was a reflection of his defeat as he sat with Bucky lying half on the floor and half in Steve's lap, pale and bleeding out, eyes losing focus with every passing second.

“Bucky?” Steve asked, shaking Bucky as gently as possible. “Hey, don't fall asleep on me here. You with me?”

Bucky blinked, making it look as though it was the hardest thing in the world. His brows knit together and it seemed to take him forever to turn his gaze on Steve. “Yeah. I'm with you.”

“Good. Just hang on,” Steve said.

Bucky's mouth curved into a weak smile, and Steve was struck by how it was the first time he'd seen Bucky smile that way since they got him back, loose and soft. In a fading and wear voice, Bucky said, “You know what's going to bring Hydra down? They're so sure of themselves. They let me get too close. All you had to do was say my name. That's all it took...that's twice you saved me from them.”

Steve swallowed, unable to respond immediately. Forcing a smile onto his lips and finding his voice, he said, “You remember that. Means you owe me. If you don't make it out of here, you can't pay me back.”

Bucky let out a sigh, sounding drained. “You don't need me to look out for you anymore. You never did.”

“That never stopped you,” Steve said, thinking of all the times Bucky was just there, as if he spent a lifetime following Steve around just to pick him up and dust him off. “And you're wrong. I always needed you.”

“I did terrible things,” Bucky said, grimacing, his watery pink eyes sliding away from Steve. Steve could see a tear roll out of the corner of Bucky's eye, disappearing down the side of his face, into his blood-matted hair, his gaze growing distant.

“You didn't have a choice, Buck. That's wasn't you,” Steve whispered.

“I remember.” Bucky blinked slowly, a faraway look in his eyes, which were beginning to drift shut, a breath that sounded to close to final escaping his mouth.

“ _Bucky_.” Steve jolted the injured man, causing Bucky's eyes to open a fraction, lacking any focus. Steve's voice shook as he pleaded, “I need you to stay awake, Buck.”

“You might want to try being more interesting then.” Steve's head snapped up to see Loki peering at his reflection in the shine of the opposite wall. After a second or two, he turned to arch a brow in Bucky's direction. “This is an impressive cage, I must confess. Do you have any idea how deep in the bowels of Midgard you've been buried?”

“Can you get us out of here?” Steve asked, not hearing Loki's words at all, his mind running a million miles an hour. “There was something in the bullet, something stopping him from healing. We need to get him to a hospital. He's bleeding out-”

“We,” Loki pondered. “I was told _your_ life might be in danger. You appear to be fine-”

“ _Stop_ playing games,” Steve grated out. “It's never been about paying off any debt. You've been hanging around waiting to prove a point. So prove it.”

“And what point would that be?” Loki asked, eyes momentarily flicking to Bucky.

“I need your help,” Steve said evenly. “More than you'll ever need mine. Do something.”

“You do something,” Loki said, the lines of his face sharp, malicious. “ _Avenger_.”

Steve clenched his jaw. “I can't. You know I can't. You want me to beg? I can beg. _Please._ Help me _._ ”

“Having you begging me for help has long been a dream of mine,” Loki said absently, sounding almost unsure.

Loki's gaze shifted to Bucky, and he was staring at him as if he was seeing Bucky for the first time. He had that same look on his face an hour later in a glowing chamber on Asgard, Bucky unconscious under a dome of healing light, whilst Steve stood there numbly in his blood-stained uniform, the same blood staining his hands and face.

“Thank you,” Steve told Loki, insides feeling raw, outside feeling brittle, all the muscle between useless.

“Death doesn't end all things,” Loki said, his tone quiet, thoughtful. Steve frowned at him. “Gods and monsters can find curious methods of binding souls to torture them beyond death. Bring them back into corpses, make puppets of them.”

“What-”

Loki shot Steve a sharp serpentine look. “ _What_ I am saying is, my life has more value than you could possibly ever comprehend, and healing _him_ does not wipe away what I owe you for saving it.”

“You don't owe me anything,” Steve said. “Not from where I'm standing.”

Loki's eyes were raking over Steve's expression, his own turning sour over the passing seconds. It was soon overtaken by a look of boredom. He turned away, telling Steve. “I can only assume you're standing in a spot deprived of enough air to allow you the luxury of complex thought.”

Steve said nothing, Loki's profile stubborn and closed off. He fell into a strange silence Steve couldn't quite penetrate or understand. Steve returned his gaze to Bucky, who slept on under a gentle Asgardian glow, looking like something out of a fairy tale.

“You love him,” Loki said slowly, almost as if he was pondering another distasteful Midgardian idea.

Steve stiffened, his heart knocking against his chest. Even so, he mustered his rusty voice to reply, “Yeah. I do.”

“Like a brother?” Loki asked, his greedy gaze full of scrutiny. Steve stared at him mutely, unable to answer. Brother didn't quite cover what he felt. It was both blasphemous and inadequate somehow, to say Bucky was like a brother to him. Loki's lip curled up in some kind of disapproval and Steve was banished from his attention, the Asgardian turning towards Bucky. After a while, he said, “Does he know?”

“Loki,” Steve grated out, asking him to stop, his tone shamefully pleading.

Loki was quiet for a moment, before he let out a quiet laugh, a ripple of sounds that felt too hollow to hold any real pleasure. Steve continued to watch over Bucky, listening to the sound of Loki's footsteps as he left.

# ***

Steve is, strangely enough, woken up by silence. There's maybe a hum in the air, but he feels it more than hears it, something barely discernible under his skin. Blinking a few times, he fishes around his mind for the last thing he remembers. Chaos, battle and noise, something knocking him off his feet, something with talons, the shredding of skin and muscle, the breaking of bone. But he's not in any pain, he just aches all over. Steve looks down the emerald sheet covering his naked body and wiggles his toes. Pushing the sheet further down, he finds his torso doesn't have even a scratch, let alone any gaping wounds.

“I think you'll find everything is exactly where you left it,” a familiarly smooth voice supplies. “I checked.”

Steve slowly turns his head to the side to see Loki seated by his bed. Everything comes into sudden focus then, the large opulent room, the windows that show starry mists with perfect clarity, and Loki looking smug and regal, all dressed in black, his short hair smoothed back neatly. In his lap is an open book, which he is no longer reading. Steve tries to sit up, but his muscles ache and tremble, so he remains lying down, watching Loki closely.

“Did we win?” His question comes out as a gravelly croak. It's an overly simplistic question, but Steve doesn't have the energy for a lengthy inquisition.

Loki grins, arching his brow and snapping his book shut. “Well, the beast was bested. Your dismal little world continues to thrive. And as you can see, Asgard continues to be the jewel in the crown of all realms.”

“Could've just said yes.” Steve sighs, going limp with relief and closing his eyes. “What am I doing here?”

“You saved my life,” Loki says, sounding inconvenienced rather than thankful. “I suppose I felt compelled to return the favour.”

“Big of you.” Steve opens his eyes to scowl at Loki. He's being watched closely by the Asgardian, green eyes roaming Steve's prone form.

Quietly, Loki ventures, “You saved me from a rather painful death. Why?”

Steve feels irritated by the question. “It's better than standing by and doing nothing.”

Loki blinks at the answer, sitting back in his chair looking every inch a king, which it appears he is in this realm, Thor in happy self-imposed exile on Earth. Loki stares at Steve for so long, Steve wonders if some kind of outburst is forthcoming. The Asgardians, with the exception of Thor, don't take kindly to not being treated like gods.

“After all that I've done?” Loki asks, curious, not regretful.

“I prefer not to play judge, jury, and executioner,” Steve says tiredly.

Loki snorts, visibly unimpressed. “And you say this despite the fact that I sense my magic all over you. You may as well be covered in my fingerprints. You are here because my hand played a part in sending you here.”

Steve blinks at Loki, considering if he ought to say anything, or let Loki believe what he wants. He mentally rolls his eyes at himself; of course he's going to say something. “You were trying to help me.”

Loki laughs, scowling. “Why would I do that?”

“I saved your life. You like to keep the score even,” Steve says, glancing around for the Loki who should be here, berating him for almost getting killed again. “It's kind of annoying after a while.”

Loki tilts his head at Steve. “Yet, here we are, saving each other again. Why, all these realities, they're just tedious reproductions of each other. How terrible dull.”

“Yeah,” Steve says blankly, thinking there really isn't much difference at all. “Yeah.”

“Portals,” Loki says, after briefly scowling at Steve, “they're not hard to manipulate. I could shut down the next one. Keep you from being thrown out into another reality.”

Steve frowns at Loki. “Then I'd be stuck here for good.”

Loki blinks, looking as innocent as a lamb. “I suppose you would.”

Steve shakes his head. “I'd rather take my chances with the portals.”

Loki's mouth twitches into a smile. “Captain, you're a hero in this realm, and you have a king watching over you in your sick bed. Coincidentally, _my_ bed. Surely, I can lure you away from whatever dull life it is you are yearning to return to.”

“You _want_ me to stay here?” Steve asks, sick of this place in time and space already.

“You are a god amongst men,” Loki says. “Asgard would be a fitting place for someone like you.”

“And what exactly am I supposed to do here?” Steve asks.

Loki's answer is accompanied by a wide smile. “Why, you'll be the king's chosen warrior of course, with all the rewards that come with such a position.”

“I'm not sure that's a good id-”

“Come now, Captain,” Loki says, right in Steve's ear.

Steve snaps his head around, coming face to face with Loki who lays a quick and light kiss on his mouth, both tentative and experimental. After a moment, Steve feels the smile on Loki's lips spreading against his own mouth. Steve pulls back and stares at Loki, somewhat stunned. To his right, the illusion of Loki shimmers and disappears from the corner of his eye.

“What are you...” Steve flounders, voice caught in his throat.

Loki shrugs, tilting his head to the side. “After all this time, jumping from place to place, you must be tired. Alone. Yearning for some company. _Affectionate_ company.”

Steve swallows, still turning that unexpected kiss over in his mind, aware that Loki's finger has started trailing down his chest, his stomach, and come to rest on the silken sheet, toying with its edge in a promise to proceed further. Steve grabs Loki's wrist and shakes his head, quietly telling him, “No.”

Loki doesn't pull his hand away from Steve's grasp, looking at it with a raised eyebrow. “I'm going to assume you took many blows to the head. It's the only way _this_ would make any sense.”

“You said portals aren't hard to manipulate.” Steve says. “Does that mean you can find a way to get me home?”

Loki's smile is pointed, his eyes looking as though he's eaten something sour. Shrugging, he answers, “Perhaps. When you decide you've had enough of holding my hand, that is.”

Steve lets go and Loki gets up with a smirk, giving Steve's form a pointedly suggestive look as he turns and leaves. Steve watches him, almost jumping from the bed when he realises _his_ Loki is standing by the chair recently vacated by an illusion.

Steve sits up, staring at Loki. “When did you get here?”

Loki doesn't look at Steve, face taut with irritation. “Just this moment.”

“Loki...from this reality, he thinks he might be able to help,” Steve says. Loki is nodding thoughtfully, his mouth looking a little too tightly clamped shut. Steve is surprised that Loki seems to be in agreement, but then it makes sense all too quickly. Loki is unlikely to scoff at his own abilities. Still. “It can't be that easy, can it? I mean, if he can get me back, then why-”

“Haven't I been able to retrieve you?” Steve snaps his mouth shut. It's a valid question, even if he can't quite finish asking it. “Simple. I haven't had anyone able enough to help nudge you back in my direction. Now I do. _Me_.”

Steve scowls at Loki. “You really should see someone about those self-esteem issues.”

Loki gives Steve a cut-eyed look, lip curling slightly. He disappears without another word. Deserted by two Lokis in one day, Steve thinks, seems liked a record.

# *

Asgard's tall spires were smoking, the gold blackened. Stonework had crumbled leaving gaping holes in buildings in the city. The Asgardian warriors seemed nothing like the gods Odin might have once asserted them to be. Everyone's a god until someone bigger and meaner comes along, Steve thought, watching as Thor tiredly gave orders to his soldiers, Sif standing close to his side as if waiting to catch him if he fell. It was a frightening thought, that even someone like Thor might fall in battle.

“Everything all right over there?” Steve asked, eyeing Sam who was sitting on a stone step, Bucky behind him, struggling with a broken wing. “Bucky?”

Bucky gave Sam's shoulder a pat. “I think we're a wing down.”

Sam waved a hand, half of his face bruised and bloody, “I'll just consider myself lucky the rest of me is still holding up.”

Bucky gave Sam another pat on the shoulder before looking in Steve's direction, his gaze warm. Steve couldn't help but stare at him, smiling a little. Bucky gave him a nod, one that Steve knew was a question: _you okay?_ Steve nodded back in response, suddenly feeling as if he were in another time and place altogether. A gold and red form streaked across the sky. That was Tony accounted for, and Steve had seen Bruce earlier, appearing from the rubble wrapped up in a silken cloak that didn't belong to him.

“Anyone seen Clint and Natasha?” Steve asked.

Sam answered with a nod. “They're with Hogun and Fandral.”

“Okay,” Steve said, watching Sam get up with a slight grimace. “Let's see if we can get in there and lend a hand.”

Steve made his way through the chaos left behind by the attack. Thor hadn't been able to give much of a convincing answer about why Asgard had been attacked, and who had been in the wrong. In the end what was right came down to defending his home and the people who lived in it. This, according to him, was not the time to right the wrongs of the past carried out by those who were no longer around to see the trouble they left behind. Loki had found cause to sneer, his reaction going unchallenged.

Steve didn't go looking for him, following a trail of destruction and helping where he could, whether it was shifting debris or giving someone a shoulder to lean on. Maybe it was just fate that the trail led to Loki. He could hear Loki's voice echoing down an empty corridor, smooth and measured, arrogant as ever. He wasn't alone. There was a voice Steve had heard in the midst of the attack on Asgard: Amora.

“She's dangerous,” Thor had said. “And she is not pleased with Loki.”

“Really?” Tony had responded. “Because I find he wins fans wherever he goes. He's just so darned lovable.”

Steve gave Tony a disapproving look, but the point he was making was a valid one; Loki had a gift for making enemies, and Amora was a dangerous foe, equally matched in skill and malice. The moment Steve heard her voice, he knew things were about to get just that little bit worse.

“Come now, surely we can let bygones be bygones,” Loki was telling her as Steve positioned himself outside the entrance of the large room, all polished floors and plush furniture, partly reduced to a mess of rocky rubble, torn fabric, twisted metal, and broken glass.

“I think not,” Amora said, her hard voice echoing in the large chamber. “You are as slimy an ally as you are a foe, and I have tired of both faces.”

Loki laughed, the low sound filled with amusement. “We were good together, Amora. We could be again. There's no need for us to be enemies.”

“I think it's best if you disappeared altogether.”

Steve glanced around the archway in time to see Amora point in Loki's direction, sending out a flare of white, which encompassed the whole room. Bolts of light shot through an expanding mist, both Loki and Amora trying to strike each other. Steve moved to take out Amora, but one of her lackeys appeared around another archway, aiming a staff weapon in Loki's direction. Steve ran, throwing his arms around Loki's middle and tackling him to the ground, pushing him out of the way of the blast, and across the floor.

“Too late!” Amora laughed, sounding delighted.

“What are you doing?” Loki snapped. Steve opened his mouth to answer, but something had a hold of his ankle, dragging him across the floor.

“What the-? Loki!” Steve called out.

Steve scrabbled at the floor, finding no purchase on the smooth floor, furniture being dragged along or breaking in his grasp when he tried to hold on. The mist cleared, revealing Loki, his hand held out, sweeping away remnants of Amora's cloud. He caught sight of Steve, his eyes widening and flicking up somewhere beyond Steve. Steve turned onto his back, pushing his feet against the ground to stop him from being dragged towards a whirlpool that made the room appear to be twisting. Amora was gone, chaos successfully caused. Steve felt hands slipping under his arms, wrapping around his chest. Now Steve was being pulled in two directions, and still being dragged, along with Loki.

“Let go. It's going to take both of us,” Steve growled.

“There's a time for heroics, Captain, this is not it!” Loki snapped back.

Steve gripped Loki's hands, prying them off his uniform, his body yanked away from Loki's reach, Steve's body lifting off the floor to be swallowed up by bright whiteness and freezing cold.

# ***

The first landing is the hardest and the strangest. He arrives in Brooklyn in a time more familiar to him than the place he has just come from. In their sepia toned clothes, two young men walk side by side with hands shoved deep in their pockets, bright grins on their faces. Across the road, a woman has perfectly shaped black hair and a dash of red lipstick that brings colour to the whole street. Steve steps out of a dark alley in his red, white, and blue, his shield left behind on Asgard. His eyes are wide in shock, and he's bleeding, unable to remember where and how he hit his head, his legs weak and wobbly. It'll take several jumps before he realises that the weakness in his bones means there is another Steve Rogers out there in the world he's been dropped into.

“Captain America!” Steve turns around to find a young police office staring at him. He looks like a rookie, bright-eyed and hopeful. “Sir, this is such an honour.”

“What year is it?” Steve asks in a rusty voice, the gathering crowd making him feel giddy, the sun shining too bright in his eyes.

“Captain, are you okay? You don't look so good,” the young cop says, before shaking and blurring into two. Steve asks him the same question more insistently, and is told, “It's 1946. Captain?”

And the rest is drowned out by a wall of grey rushing towards him. Steve comes to in a darkened room, an L shape of light indicating a window on the wall to his left. He can hear quiet voices outside the door, and the noise of the street outside the window. He swallows when the deja vu hits so hard it leaves him nauseous. Steve sits up slowly, leaning to one side to let the sick feeling in his gut subside.

A lamp switches on and the whole room fills with light, revealing a small comfortable bedroom decorated in plain hues. Standing in front of an armchair by the window is a very well groomed man with an inscrutable but polite expression. In a crisp British accent, he says, “Feeling better?”

Steve clumsily throws aside the sheets, scowling at the white pyjamas someone has stuffed him into, feeling naked without his uniform. He pushes himself out of bed, his body heavy and uncoordinated. “Where am I?”

“Above Mr and Mrs Flaherty's hardware store. They were kind enough to bring you in from the street where you collapsed, just outside.” The unnamed man tilts his head towards the window, and Steve immediately pulls the drapes back to look down at the street. It's real, this room is not a fabrication.

Steve looks back at the man. “Who are you?”

“Edwin Jarvis,” the man says, staying where he is, at a safe distance, slowly adding, “at your service.”

Steve scowls at the door, turning the name over in his head, thinking of that street outside which says it's 1946. “Someone tell you to keep an eye on me?”

“I'm not at liberty to say at this time,” Jarvis replies, remaining polite, but something about his poise suggesting he's ready to drop the politeness if need be.

The sound of an engine growing from a purr to a growl makes Steve turn back to the window. He watches a car pull up, and there she is, Peggy Carter, climbing out and looking strong, beautiful, and steadfast. Steve can't help but smile. Howard follows her out, mouth moving at rapid fire speed, stopped by Peggy hold up her hand with an impatient look. He holds his hands up in surrender, nodding.

“Looks like the cavalry's here,” Steve says as Jarvis joins him by the window. The mask of politeness on Jarvis's face seems to slip a little, revealing a chink of sympathy. “With bad news, I'm guessing.”

Jarvis says nothing, Steve watching a second car pull up, the bad news climbing out and rushing towards Peggy. Peggy puts her arms around the Steve Rogers of this world, before pulling back and looking at him with confusion. He looks just as confused, shaking his head as he speaks to her quietly. It doesn't take a genius to guess what they're talking about.

“I think you see the dilemma we have,” Jarvis says quietly.

Steve doesn't respond, his eyes trained on another man climbing out of the second car. Bucky strides towards his friends with a swagger of self-assurance, looking dapper in his well-tailored dark suit. He slaps Howard on the shoulder and kisses Peggy on the cheek, one arm going around her back, his other hand squeezing his best friend's shoulder. Both he and Peggy are talking to the other Steve, their expressions filled with reassurance, protective and firm-jawed. Steve's heart swells with joy for a second, that some higher power has allowed him to see this, before collapsing in on itself at the unfairness, that this is what has been snatched away from him: all the people he has loved, by his side.

“Why don't I give you a moment?” Jarvis says, quietly leaving, as Steve remains rooted to the spot.

The only thing that disturbs the silence of the room now is the thudding of Steve's heart and the faraway sounds of the people on the street asking questions about the imposter above them. They think he's a Hydra trick, one Bucky is enthusiastic about talking to, before his best friend silences him with a reproachful look. Steve should smile, but he can't.

“Captain.” Steve swallows, turning to find Loki. The Asgardian's eyes look dark, his hair not so smooth, impatience mapped across his features. When his gaze flicks across Steve's face, his expression changes slightly, becoming cautious. “Good to see you.”

Steve nods, almost laughing at himself when he says, “Believe it or not, the feeling's mutual.”

Loki takes a step forward, looking around the room. “I'll take it you're not having a good day thus far.”

“Something like that,” Steve says with a nod. “Tell me you're here to get me the hell out.”

“I'm afraid it's not that simple,” Loki says. “It's taken a lot just to make contact with you. Getting you back is a whole different matter, but I'm working on it.”

“If you haven't worked it out, how are you going to get back?” Steve says.

Loki looks reluctant to answer the question, but nods after a moment. “I have a gift, one my father didn't quite appreciate. I can see across realms, across time and space. And now, it appears, across realities.”

“You're not really here,” Steve says slowly, the realisation dawning on him.

“Not physically,” Loki says. “When you were swallowed up by the portal meant for me, it linked us together. It's how I was able to seek you out.”

Steve can hear voices getting closer to the door, people walking up the stairs and talking quietly, voices Steve recognises, that make his heart thud uncomfortably. Steve's eyes fix on the doorknob which will turn and open the door to a whole reality Steve didn't need to see. Doesn't want to see.

“They're coming,” Steve says. “Maybe you can help explain what the hell happened here.”

“I'm afraid not. Only you can see me.” Steve blinks at the door, his whole body going numb. He's in another reality talking to someone who's not really here. He can feel his mind folding itself endlessly inside out, questions tripping over each other, silenced only when an eternity later, Loki snaps, “He's not saying anything.”

Steve aims a frown at him. Loki rolls his eyes and looks extremely annoyed. “All your friends are here. They have questions.”

Steve laughs, despite the knot in his stomach. The twisted smile on Loki's mouth suggests he gets the joke.

# *

After exactly three years and nine months, Steve returned to his reality, nudged on his way by Loki, who even at the last second found time to suggest how pleasurable it might be if Steve just decided to stay. When Steve politely told him no thanks, Loki smiled sweetly and said, “This might sting a bit.”

Steve was hit by a surge of power which felt like a hammer to the chest, sending a fiery sensation shooting through his veins. He landed screaming in agony, as if hurled right out of a river of ice, and all he could do was lie convulsing on a shining black marble floor, muscles rigid and tight, eyes squeezed shut.

“Jane!” Thor yelled somewhere.

“Get him out of there!” Jane snapped back and moments later Thor was dragging Steve away from the spot where he'd created a small crater from his landing. There would be bruises, but they would be worth it if he'd had finally arrived home.

“Shut it down, Stark!” Loki's voice added to the other two, not loud enough in a space filled with the sound of a storm.

The portal shut down with a loud resistant screeching sound. Shaking, tasting blood in his mouth, and blinking against black spots in front of his eyes, Steve's body was beginning to relax. He swallowed, looking past Tony and Jane, seeking out Loki who was kneeling on a round platform, breathing hard. A moment later Loki looked up, turning his gaze on Steve, breathlessly telling him, “Congratulations. Your friends almost scattered our precious atoms across hundreds of realities.”

Tony stepped into Steve's view, scowling in Loki's direction, and still scowling when he looked at Steve. “He's not wrong about that. We almost kind of blew you up.”

“ _We_?” Jane asked, aiming an incredulous look at Tony.

Tony smiled, pointing at Jane. “There's no 'I' in teamwork. Just in genius.”

Steve blinked at them and then gratefully passed out, waking in an Asgardian bed that took up an indulgent amount of space in a jewel-like room. Steve didn't like the feeling of deja vu evoked by the silken sheets. It made him wonder if he'd dreamt up his return home. But he felt a familiar strange energy in the air that he hadn't felt for some time. It crackled and carried heat, an unnatural disturbance that created chills without cold. He knew what it meant, that Loki was close at hand. Steve turned his head to the side to look into the dark room, lights dimmed to let him sleep, and all he saw were shadows. Thanks, he wanted to say just in case Loki was listening, but he stopped when he realised he was sick of chasing shadows.

# ***

Steve returns to Earth a day later, without seeing Loki, who has conveniently disappeared. The apartment seems to be just as Steve left it, and he's surprised that Bucky hasn't made much of a mark with his presence. Steve finds a few new things, like clothes hanging in the closet, books that weren't on his shelf three years ago, but nothing much else. The bed looks slept in, and for some reason it catches Steve short, the idea of Bucky having slept there, right in the muddle where the sheets have been haphazardly thrown aside. Naturally, Steve makes the bed, smoothing the sheets out slowly, making the bed new again.

Steve spends the afternoon wandering around the apartment, a ghost in his own home, sliding his fingers down the sleeve of a jacket that isn't his, reading a folded page in a library book he didn't borrow, tentatively stepping back into both his and Bucky's existence. He finds a battered book, open and lying page down, the spine cracked. Steve smiles when he picks it up from the coffee table, remembering Bucky's old habits, the way he would cram cheap novels into any available pocket, caring only for the salacious story between the covers, the pages falling victim to his pleasure.

Steve lies down and starts reading a story about a sour detective, the small book showing plenty of signs of having been badly handled by Bucky, which makes Steve smile some more. Half-way through Steve's eye-lids begin to feel heavy and soon he's slipping down, the book held to his chest as he falls asleep. He lurches back into wakefulness hours later, on the cusp of midnight. He can't remember the dream he's been thrown out of, but his heart is racing with fear, and the ugly thorny tendrils of uncertainty have an uncomfortable grip around his lungs. It's once he's calmed down that he notices a shadow within the shadows of the night. Steve sets the book aside and slowly moves to sit on the edge of the bed, waiting for his watcher to reveal himself.

The light snaps on and Bucky steps forward, something like an attempt at a reassuring smile pulling at his mouth. He looks good, better than Steve can ever remember him having looked. The bright boyish spark dimmed a long time ago, but Bucky is beginning to look like a man again, not the machine Hydra tried to create. His hair is shorter and his face has a day's worth of stubble. The barest smudges of dark circles under his eyes do little to mar his pale skin. The metal arm is hidden inside a long-sleeved black sweatshirt, hand tucked into the pocket of his black jeans. Bucky's been home a while by the look of his socked feet, making Steve wonder how long he's been standing there.

“Hi,” Steve says, finally getting his mouth unstuck. Bucky's reply is a slight lift of his chin, a quiet acknowledgement that comes with a calm and tentative look. “Should've woken me up.”

“You looked like you needed the rest.” Bucky takes up a spot next to Steve, and both of them end up watching the window, its wooden framework looking like a dark grid across the moonlit sky. Bucky looks across at Steve and says, “Can't believe you're actually back.”

“Me neither” Steve says. “Had this dream a few times now.”

Bucky snorts and says, “Trust me, it's no dream. Almost four years of hearing Sam bitch about plans that rely on him turning up at the right time to save my ass is proof of that.”

Steve grins. “That means he likes you.”

“Yeah? Well, based on the things he's said about your sense of self-preservation, he must love you.”

“He's a complicated guy.” Bucky smiles at him, all the way up to his eyes. “So, Captain. Sam's told me about the good work.”

Bucky grimaces, shifting his gaze to the ground. “All I did was fill in temporarily. Being Captain America takes more than a uniform and shield.”

Steve nods in agreement. “Yeah. Takes a fighter. Someone like you.”

“Steve,” Bucky says, shaking his head.

“This isn't the only place where you're Captain America,” Steve cuts him off, not allowing Bucky to outline all his own flaws. “I've seen you, again and again, carrying that shield. Enough times to wonder if maybe I'm the mistake. Maybe I wasn't supposed to-”

“I can believe in a million mistakes where I end up being Captain America,” Bucky says, a smile tilting his mouth up, sad and amused at the same time. “Not you though. There's no mistake here. You were always meant to be him.”

Steve is left floundering for a response. When he does get the use of his tongue back, he says, “You didn't have to come back from your mission so quick.”

“It's okay,” Bucky says. “Nat and I got what we needed. Cleared up one more ticking time-bomb of a mess I left waiting to explode.”

Steve opens his mouth to tell Bucky it's not his mess, he's not the one responsible. But Bucky aims a dead-eyed smile at him and says, “Must have been a hell of a ride out there.”

“Loki never said anything?” Steve asks, not surprised that Loki would keep any information he has close to his chest.

“He said a lot of things, usually in the middle of me getting an ass kicking. He might have said something about you, quote, spending more time being distracted by the amorous attentions of short-sighted deviants than trying to come home, end quote.” Steve sighs and rolls his eyes, his cheeks warming up very quickly. Bucky grins, letting out a quiet laugh. “My god, he was telling the truth.”

“Bucky,” Steve tries to sound stern, but the expression on Bucky's face is brighter than the moon and Steve doesn't want it to go away.

“What?” Bucky laughs. “I'm happy for you.”

“It's not funny,” Steve says sourly. Bucky is still quietly laughing, enjoying this too much. “And, it's not any of Loki's business, not to mention the fact that a few kisses don't exactly count as...whatever he was trying to imply.”

“Who'd you kiss?” Bucky asks, eyes twinkling with glee.

“I'm surprised he didn't give you a detailed list,” Steve says flatly.

“Who says he didn't?” Bucky says, voice quiet, gaze fixed on Steve. Steve can't tell if he's serious, but something about his tone of voice makes Steve's heart stutter in his chest.

“Then why are you asking?” Steve asks.

Bucky shrugs. “Loki's not exactly the most reliable source of information. Come on, tell me. You kiss all the girls out there?”

“Buck-”

“All the boys?” Bucky says, making Steve freeze on the spot. Bucky smiles and adds, “Both?”

Feeling goaded, Steve swallows and defiantly answers, “What if I did?”

“What if you did?” Bucky repeats, brows climbing up slightly. He nods and says, “Good for you, Steve. Good for you.”

“Why are we talking about this, Buck?”

“Did you kiss me?” Steve's mouth hangs open for a moment, and then falls shut. He just blinks stupidly at Bucky, unable to lie, afraid of the answer being written too clear on his face. Bucky smiles slightly. “Apparently there's one of me, according to Loki, who finally got his hands on you.”

The softness in Bucky's voice makes Steve swallow. He nods slowly, his voice sounding a little rusty when he quietly tells Bucky, “Yeah.”

Bucky grins, looking bright-eyed. “Lucky bastard.”

Steve laughs out at that, shaking his head, evading Bucky's eyes which keep searching out his gaze.

“I used to think about it,” Bucky says, prompting Steve to look at him. “Kissing you. I'd tell myself, it was because you, I dunno, had a pretty face or somethin'. It wasn't really like...wanting to kiss a boy. Besides, one day we'd both find a girl each, get married, and our kids would grow up together, and we'd just carry on being friends, and I'd never have to worry about you not being in my life. Then, suddenly, you're a foot taller and wider than you used to be and...I'm still thinking about kissing you. Only...now everyone wants a piece of you, and it's too late.”

It takes a while for Steve to realise he's staring at Bucky, his mouth dry and his throat tight. He nods at Bucky, pushing out a smile and teasing him. “That's a real sad story, Buck. Must have been hard kissing all those girls instead.”

Bucky bites his bottom lip to control the grin that spreads across his face. He lets out a laugh and looks at Steve. “I am opening up my heart here, Rogers.”

Steve smiles, looking away at the floor. “Are you?”

“We can't all be open books,” Bucky says, which makes Steve look up at him. Bucky looks him in the eyes and smiles. There's a nervous tremor in his quiet voice when he adds, “See?”

They both end up staring at each other for the longest time, Steve can't seem to pull his gaze away, and Bucky looks as if he's frozen, afraid, as he whispers, “What was he like?”

“He wasn't you,” Steve answers honestly. He swallows down the taste of fear and adds, “And I really wanted him to be you.”

Bucky's mouth twitches into a sweet boyish smile Steve thought had been stolen from him. Bucky's metal hand remaining in his lap, he turns towards Steve, the fingers of his other hand reaching out to trace the line of Steve's jaw. He looks like he's forgotten to breathe, whilst Steve is holding his own breath, afraid that the slightest move might splinter this reality. Bucky's eyes flick to Steve's mouth, his fingers curling away from Steve. Steve grabs Bucky's hand with a desperation that surprises him, not letting Bucky pull it away.

Steve swallows down the constricted feeling in his throat. “You gonna chicken out on me, Buck?”

Bucky smiles wide and honest, leaning in close, his lips gentle against Steve's mouth. The scrape of his stubble on Steve's skin sends chills across Steve's shoulders, making his breath stutter in his chest. Steve pulls Bucky close, so close that Bucky is almost climbing on top of him. Steve shuffles backwards on the bed, Bucky following and ending up lying half atop Steve. Their mouths don't stray much from each other, alternating between long drawn out kisses and small playful nips. Steve flinches when Bucky's cool flesh fingers crawl under his t-shirt to lie flat on his stomach. It makes Steve remember that Bucky is his to touch too and his hands tremble as his thumbs lift Bucky's sweatshirt up, hands slipping under and smoothing up Bucky's flanks.

“Steve,” Bucky murmurs, pressing his lips lightly against Steve's, bumping them together, toying with Steve's top lip, coaxing his mouth into a pout. Steve thinks he nods or shakes his head, trying to chase Bucky's mouth. Bucky smiles. “You're not even listening.”

Steve's listening, but seems to have lost all his words, his eyes travelling up the metal arm hidden under soft worn fabric, his fingers playing with metal fingers. As horrifying as the truth of that arm is, how it came to be, and its purpose, it is as much a part of Bucky as his flesh and bones, and there's something awful about the way Bucky is not allowing it to be a part of this moment. Steve pushes Bucky's sweatshirt up and over his head, throwing it aside. He leans up to press kisses to Bucky's collar bone, all the way to where flesh gives way to metal, Steve's fingers firmly closing around a metal bicep. Bucky angles his head for a kiss and Steve all but sighs into Bucky's mouth, feeling skin and metal fingers resting on his hips, both of them now accomplices pulling off Steve's t-shirt.

Steve pushes the palms of his hands up Bucky's back, the feel of Bucky's skin sending butterflies up the nerves of his arms and fluttering straight into his chest, down into his stomach. When he looks at Bucky, his gaze is heavy-lidded as if he's drunk, settled on Steve's lips. They kiss and everything moves in a breathless blur, both of them pulling at each other, gasping and panting their way through kisses. Somehow they manage to get Bucky out of his jeans, wrestling Steve out of his track pants and boxers next. They lie pressed against each other, skin to skin all the way, each kiss a mixture of small sighs of relief and sounds of desperate need.

Bucky pushes against Steve until Steve rolls onto his back, pulling Bucky along with him. Their bodies slot into place, and Bucky kisses Steve hard, rolling his hips and thrusting languidly against Steve. That very first slide of their bodies against each other makes Steve gasp, makes his thighs open to let Bucky move closer, and tighten to keep him there. Steve feels the heat of the flush that must be colouring his chest and his face. His fingers dig into Bucky's shoulders, one hand straying often to those metal plates, holding on as tight as he can, bucking his hips to meet every thrust.

Steve curls his hand around the back of Bucky's neck, pulling him down so they can kiss, so their lips never leave each other as their hips move together, both of them panting into each other's mouths. When the friction becomes unbearable, Bucky reaches between them, taking their cocks in hand, jerking them off together. Steve gasps, his voice cracking as he does, Bucky's mouth closing over his, muffling the quiet sound that seems deafening in the silence of the apartment. Steve comes with a hard jerk, his whole body tensing as he arches back, eyes squeezing shut, the world completely whiting out.

Floating in some quiet stillness, he's feels and hears Bucky coming seconds later, body going rigid, before slumping on top of him, heavy and sweaty, Bucky panting in the crook of Steve's neck, his open mouth breathing hot and damp as he shudders against Steve's body. Steve drifts for a while, vaguely aware that Bucky is cleaning the mess they've made, from the feel of it, with what is possibly Steve's t-shirt. He doesn't mean to keep his eyes closed and continue to drift, but he feels so peaceful, so content, that he does just that, his eyelids becoming too heavy to lift.

“You asleep?” Bucky asks quietly, sounding a little surprised. Steve smiles, eyes still closed. He continues to smile at the huff of a laugh that escapes Bucky. Steve finally cracks open his eyes when Bucky is silent and unmoving for too long, finding him propped up on an elbow, just watching Steve. Bucky traces Steve's mouth, warm fingers lingering near his chin, gliding over his cheek. “There he is.”

“Who?” Steve asks quietly.

“Some skinny guy I used to know,” Bucky whispers, staring at Steve's mouth. Steve takes Bucky's hand, pressing a kiss to his palm, uncaring of how corny it might seem. Quietly, Bucky tells Steve, “He's here too, you know. That smart-mouth asshole you used to know. Maybe not all of him, maybe not all of the time, but he's in here somewhere.”

Steve lurches up and kisses Bucky, hearing the hitch in his voice. Bucky blankets Steve's body as Steve hooks an arm around Bucky's neck to keep him close. They kiss, and it's slow and leisurely, filled with unsure and tentative touches now that the greed of climbing into each other's skins has been sated for the time being. When they fall asleep, it's with a peaceful exhaustion, Steve not stirring until early morning when he feels a sudden movement next to him. Bucky is sitting up, silently staring ahead, his expression dark in the dim light of the grey sky on the other side of the window. He looks as though he's trying to catch the wisps of a quickly disappearing memory. His mouth opens a little and then closes, brows knitting together.

“Bucky?” Steve slowly sits up next to him, Bucky's head turning towards his voice. He blinks a few times, the smoky veil of confusion lifting from his eyes. “You okay?”

“That wasn't a dream.” Bucky looks down at the sheets pooled around his waist and then lifts his brows up at Steve.

Steve smiles and shakes his head as he tentatively ventures, “Is that okay?”

Bucky stares at Steve for a moment. “Seventy years is a pretty long time to keep having the same dream. Feels good to wake up.”

Steve leans back against the pillows, his mind feeling assaulted by all the things they've never really spoken about. What Steve knows about Bucky's life with Hydra comes from a file, and what Bucky knows about Steve's waking in the future, comes from everywhere but Steve. There's so much that needs to be said, and Steve wonders if either of them will ever be strong enough to say it. Steve has to swallow, his throat feeling thick.

“I missed you,” he says quietly.

“Missed you too,” Bucky says. “It's not been the same without you.”

“Before,” Steve clarifies. “When I woke up...I missed you so much, sometimes it hurt. Like a...like a bruise or something.” A bruise from back then, when his body didn't heal quick, when the pain lingered longer, and when it took a while to get back on his unsteady feet again.

He feels wetness collecting in his nose, and he looks away as his vision blurs, Bucky watching him silently. Bucky's hand reaches for his shoulder, his touch warm on Steve's bare skin. Steve turns towards it, seeing Bucky's thumb idly moving in a circle. Steve hasn't needed someone to pick him up and dust him off in a long time, and the craving for it hits him hard. He goes easily when Bucky pulls him close with a muttered, “Come here.”

Steve closes his eyes, holding onto Bucky. It's like a key turning in a lock, a realisation that is instant, clicking loud in his head; for all the times he's wanted to kiss Bucky, he's wanted this the most, to hold him, and to be held by him again. This is going back to a place before the war, before Hydra, when they weren't old men in young bodies, they were boys instead of weapons. It's home, Steve thinks, wrapping his arms tight around Bucky. Being with Bucky like this, it means he's home.

The next time Steve wakes, the sunlight is gently coaxing his eyes open. Steve has slept with his arm possessively thrown across Bucky's waist, Bucky lying on his side, curling towards Steve in his sleep. Steve watches him until a very definite shift in the air makes him sit up to find Loki at the other end of the apartment, examining an apple, only to turn his nose up at it, dropping it back into the fruit bowl. Steve climbs out of bed quick and quiet, pulling on his track pants. Casting a look back at Bucky, he quietly walks across the apartment to join Loki in the small kitchen that runs along the far wall, a simple long block of a counter standing between Loki and Steve.

“You're still here. Good,” Loki says, eyes briefly flicking down Steve's body.

“I've been meaning to thank you,” Steve says sincerely. “You said you were going to get me back, and you did.”

Loki rolls his eyes so hard they're in danger of falling out of his head altogether. Steve can't help but be amused by the exaggerated gesture. “Let's not cheapen this with gratitude. I fixed this because I knew I could. Of course, you can consider all debts cleared now. I'm positively sick of the sight of you.”

“So what does that mean exactly?” Steve asks. “You're going back to being a major pain in the ass?”

“I wasn't aware I had stopped,” Loki says with a smirk. “Mind you, having witnessed the things we have, and knowing that they could come to pass in our reality, we may yet find ourselves allied again. A thought that, you understand, disgusts me to my very core.”

Loki is smiling and Steve can't help but shake his head and smile back. “Is it really that bad? The idea of working together, fighting on the same side?”

“I cannot think of anything more trying than fighting by your side,” Loki says, the words lacking any sting, any trace of pride, a catch in his voice. It throws Steve a little, and he can tell from the brittle look on Loki's face, he's aware of having forgotten to put any bite into his reply. He makes up for it with a smirk, adding, “A notion perhaps too complicated for you to grasp.”

Steve shakes his head. Very firmly, he tells Loki, “You're wrong.”

“I doubt it, but about what exactly?”

“Debts being cleared,” Steve says. “They're not. The portal was meant for you, but it caught me first. Since you managed to get me back, we can call that even. However.”

“However,” Loki echoed, brows raised up.

“You still me owe. You know, for saving your... _valuable_ life,” Steve says, quite seriously.

Loki's green eyes seem to glitter, his face giving away nothing about this thoughts. The corner of his mouth twitches up. “Do I?”

“Yeah. I think you do.”

Loki's posture straightens, making it more effective to look down his nose at Steve. Quietly, he tells Steve, his eyes drifting in Bucky's direction for a second, “I fear you have so many that would gladly lay down their life for you, it may not be a debt I ever have the chance to repay.”

It's a hard thing to believe, or maybe too much of a burden to carry. Steve offers his response with a shaky smile. “Guess you'll just have to try real hard.”

“It does appear that way,” Loki says, nodding thoughtfully. His gaze roams around the contours of the kitchen for a stretched out moment before returning to Steve, guarded and distant. “If you ever require my help-”

“I know,” Steve says, smiling. “Don't ask, right?”

“Precisely,” Loki replies with a smile that seems genuine and without pretence. Turning his gaze in Bucky's direction, he says, “Time I left, I think.”

Steve turns to look at Bucky, finding him still sound asleep. He shakes his head and smiles, twisting around slowly to see that Loki has vanished, just has he expected. Steve lingers where he's standing for a moment, his gaze roaming over everything in sight, the way Loki's had a moment ago. Walking around the counter, he watches Bucky sleep under the glow of sunlight, looking a good kind of tired. Steve blows out a breath, feeling something too frighteningly close to contentment, and sets about making breakfast.

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this back in September last year for [this prompt](http://stevebucky-fest.dreamwidth.org/307.html?thread=1025075) and it went from being 2,000 words of _5 Times Steve Made Out With an Evol(ish) Villein_ , into something a little more wibbly-wobbly (because I have never been able to properly fill a prompt in my life). 
> 
> Feedback, always cherished, here or on [Tumblr](http://dvswraatins.tumblr.com/post/114709874884/temporary-ground-20-443-words-bucky-steve).


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